


Snow

by ohclare



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Post - A Feast for Crows, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohclare/pseuds/ohclare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first snow is falling on the floor of the Vale when a tourney is called, and Alayne Stone and Harry the Heir meet for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt 'snow' as part of the christmas 25 days of fic - again christmas is not mentioned (although understandably considering it's set in westeros)

There wasn’t any snow at the bottom of the mountain.

It had been a long time since Alayne had been truly warm and even now amongst the golden leaves of autumn she couldn’t quite defrost, perhaps she was never meant to defrost. She spent her days busy with little Sweetrobin instead, Alayne was responsible for him and for keeping her father happy too – Sansa would have been gossiping with Randa and the other ladies, or enjoying the feasts and dancing with the handsome knights but Alayne couldn’t.

Her father often told her of his plans, how one day soon she could strip the dye from her hair and rid herself of Sansa’s marriage to the imp but Alayne wasn’t so sure. Her father would rather kiss her and teach her and tell her things rather than make any sort of move towards introducing her to her betrothed. But Alayne listened and learnt and waited because she was a dutiful daughter.

The first snow is falling on the floor of the Vale when Lord Royce calls a tourney to celebrate Sweetrobin’s nameday. It is only to be a small one (how could it be otherwise when most of the seven kingdoms are recovering from war or still in it) but Alayne isn’t excited for it. She knows that she will have to be there, Sweetrobin will need her there to ensure that he doesn’t have one of his fits in front of all his Lords. Her father sees it as a way to encourage all the Lords to come together in support of his protectorship, that’s how Alayne knows that it was his idea.

Not all the Lords of the Vale come but most do, as well as those knights desperate to prove themselves. Alayne wonders whether the newly made Harry is amongst them, if he is then her father is yet to tell her.

She barely watches the tourney, instead she focuses on telling Sweetrobin how brave he is and how one day he will be the strongest knight there ever was. But the feasts are the worst, even after Sweetrobin has been whisked away her father insists she stays and continues to watch the proceedings and she can hear the worst of the young knights and squires make japes about her pretty face and how sure they are the bastard daughter of Littlefinger would fuck them. It’s a welcome thing that Alayne only dances with her father, even if those dances are their own special branch of torture.

There is only feast that Alayne is allowed to escape, when Sweetrobin insists that she tells him a bedtime story one night and her father has no choice but to let her go. He sleeps soon enough and Alayne slips into the godswood, of course she does not pray to the old gods but either does anyone else and she knows that is a place where she can be alone. She smiles softly to herself as she traces patterns in the thin layer of snow resting by the trees.

She doesn’t hear him approach until he softly clears his throat, “my lady?”

The boy before Alayne is the sort that Sansa had dreamed of; all smiles and handsomeness, with pretty sandy hair and soft blue eyes that she would have swooned over. Alayne has never dreamed of any boys, but she smiles as she stands and thinks of which title this boy could possibly lay claim to.

“My aunt told me that you were very beautiful, my lady, but I see that she underestimated it. Ser Harrold Hardyng, at your service.”

Alayne offered him her hand with a pleasant smile, “a pleasure, Ser.” She had assumed that he was not here after her father’s failure to introduce them before now but now they had met she was surprised that he seemed to be everything her father had said. But she still walked away; she had no desire for a handsome knight.

Somehow he kept on finding her, he would tell her stories of his childhood or tales that he had been told as a child or stories of his expertise in a mêlée and Alayne would listen and smile and tell him no stories in return. She found he grew on her though, a sweet boy who had put more effort into wooing her than anyone else ever had or ever would. But Alayne Stone did not love and she reminded herself of his two bastards after every story.

It was the night before he was due to leave when he asked her to dance, the first time he had spoken to her in front of her father. Alayne waited for his nod before she gave a small smile of assent and let him bring her out onto the dance floor. They didn’t speak as he whirled her about the floor; he just smiled and laughed while she tried her hardest not to laugh with him. It was only when she felt as if she would collapse from exhaustion that he led her outside into the falling snow, Alayne didn’t dare to look back at her father because she knew he wouldn’t approve.

They were sheltered under a tall tree in the godswood when Harry spoke, “do you think you could love me Alayne?”

“We are to be married,” she offered, she didn’t tell him that she could never love him because he wouldn’t understand. She had no desire to hurt this sweet boy who had treated her with such kindness.

“So you’ll love me like a wife does but no more?”

Alayne almost felt bad about the look of pain that crossed his face as he spoke but at least he would no longer have any false expectations from her. “Love is what produces people like me and your babes.”

“No, that is lust. What I feel for you is love.”

Alayne didn’t believe him.

“Please,” he asked as he gradually went to cup her face in his hands. His hands were softer than she had expected.

She made no move to stop him; perhaps it would be different to get a kiss from someone who she might have a future with.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

His kiss was softer than she expected, something gentle and without desperation. Neither Alayne nor Sansa had ever been kissed like that.

“My lord ser,” she whispered as he pulled softly away.

“My lady.” And with a smile he left her standing amongst the snow.

Alayne Stone may never love but there was a chance that Sansa Stark still could.


End file.
